Princess, Save Yourself
by LegendaryStarCat
Summary: Princess Kitty learns that if you want something done, you may as well do it yourself. Kitty Pryde/Peter Quill pseudo-fairytale au writing exercise. One, possible two, shot.


Hoisting her skirts and petticoats up, Lady Katherine of Pryde planted one foot firmly on the sill of the tower window and peered out. Her body dangled precariously, torso thrust fully out of the large stone window, her only real support, beyond where her foot rested, was one hand, tightly clasping the heavy metal curtain rod, from which thick yards of velveteen were draped. The other hand shielded her eyes from the bright sun, while the leg she wasn't standing on splayed out behind her, beneath her skirts, as a counterbalance.

Being a princess royally sucked.

Katherine, who preferred to be called "Kitty," as her countenance reflected that of a small, delicate-seeming creature with an agile nature, a ferociously brave attitude, and sharp, if tiny, weapons at her disposal-surveyed the land beneath her, noting the slumbering body of the purple dragon who guarded her, whom she had named "Lockheed," as he kept her trapped in the tower, yet paid an affection mind to her, easily at her beck and call for anything (except, of course, escape). Leaning out more precariously, Kitty strained her eyes beyond the horizon. Field and forest stretched out before her, unknown to her feet, and the feet of many others, save for her captors.

Of course, Kitty wasn't actually a princess, and he captors weren't so much captors as they were soldiers protecting rarities.

It seemed as though Kitty had a gift; the ability to escape from any situation. The tower she was in, all thick dense metal, shaped as stones, seemed to be the only thing she could escape from.

Or, at least, that's what the Xtricators thought (such a silly name). The Xtricators relieved those gifted with great responsibilities of the fears of the world. It was their goal to help other escape the horrors that befell their founder, a learned man dubbed by many "Saint Xavier."

Of course, their mission statement had become muddled in the years since Brother Xavier's sainthood, and, at this very point, they seemed to do less saving, and very much more protecting of individuals-even from themselves.

And so, that was how Kitty came to find herself trapped in a tower, almost literally like a fable princess, but without a fairy godmother or magical spindle. Quite a shame, considering sleeping for a century would be more interesting than what Kitty did most days, which was longingly survey the world around her from the sole window she had.

But today, she had a plan.

Lady Kitty had spent countless days in secret unraveling voluminous petticoats, tulle, taffeta, and the like. With deft hands, those fineries had been transformed into a long, hearty chain, which she now attached to the sturdy oak bedpost. Gathering the collected fabrics, she tossed them out of her window. Though she could not simply walk out of her entrapment, there was nothing keeping her from repelling down on silks and satins.

Or so she hoped.

Kitty wasn't a fool. She had tested these things. Spoken at length with Lockheed about the tower (intuiting his odd grunts and puffs for a deeper meaning). Watched nature interact with the confinement quite normal, all things told. Today was the day, and she would never be more ready.

She had packed a small knapsack in preparation of this momentous occasion, in it were a pair of soft calfskin boots, a tunic and breeches she fashioned out of fabric too dear to her to rip and weave into rope, and a treasured few possessions (a book, writing tools, a knife, a cameo of her dear friend, and a necklace passed on to her from a elfin friend). The bag, she secured safely to her waist.

She discarded her slippers and fond memories in the top floor of the tower and took flight. Slipping precariously, she gripped the rich linens and thrust herself bodily out the window. Her bare feet clung to the weathered-smooth surface, while her hands fed her down lengths of brightly color fabrics.

She took her first gasps of free air, and idle wondered why she had waited so very long to do this.

In a distant dale, the roguish scoundrel know as Peter Quill, the stealer of stars, looked on at the image of the woman scrambling down the sheer side of an imposing tower. He chuckled to himself and urged his horse, Lydia, towards the scene.

There truly was nothing more beautiful than the sight of a princess saving her.


End file.
